


A Great Hymn Rose Over

by Moshun (Richter)



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Lyrium, Separation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Richter/pseuds/Moshun
Summary: In the aftermath of the battle with Meredith, Hawke and Fenris take a much needed break from Kirkwall. Years later, they decide to part ways. Hawke joins the Inquisition and is lost in the Fade, whilst Fenris frees slaves in the North.Fate, and a brush with red lyrium, slowly reunites them.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Kudos: 7





	A Great Hymn Rose Over

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted in 2015

A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:  
Those who had been slaves were now free.  
  
-Shartan 10.1, _Dissonant Verse_

### Dragon 9:37

The roof of the manor had collapsed sometime during the siege and debris blocked any hope of entrance from the front lobby. Fenris found that he didn’t care much about this development, but whether that was from his lack of interest in a home he’d never much cared for or just another symptom of his exhaustion he couldn’t tell. As he looked over the large block of stone blocking his path his eye caught sight of the red sunburst design and he shut his eyes, taking a moment to banish those thoughts from his mind. It was not his right to question Hawke’s choice in the matter. If the other thought that the abomination deserved to live…

He shook his head and opened his eyes. Best to try and forget, at least until he was rested. Anders would most likely not survive long in the wilderness. He would eventually become a victim to his own uprising. Fenris was only disappointed that he would not be present to see the mage fall.

He turned to make his way, instead, through the side-entrance; accessed through an alcove in a nearby Hightown alleyway. The lock was seized with rust but easy enough to snap. Once inside he pulled Lethendralis from his back and used the heavy sword as weight to keep the door shut for now. His shoulders ached beneath his armour, relieved for first time in many hours.

As he moved through the main vestibule it became evident that the debris blocking the entrance was not the only piece. Smaller rocks, building material and heraldic symbols were littered across, all smelling faintly of drakestone. The bannister on one side of the grand staircase had been ripped clean and lay across the floor below. Fenris wrinkled his nose and headed up to the second floor.

His sleeping quarters were surprisingly undisturbed; the hole in the roof was no bigger than it had always been. He pulled his gauntlets off and dropped them at the floor by his bed as he leant over to strike a match for the candles. The sun was beginning to rise already, but the flame was a welcome comfort and a force of habit. He tossed the burnt match to the corner and flexed his cramped fingers, finally taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Relaxation came slowly to his tense muscles, unable to admit that the fight was over. He shut his eyes and held his breath, taking a moment before releasing it. After several quiet moments he opened his eyes and lifted his foot from the floor to rest it across his knee, pulling away the strap of fabric to inspect the gash across the side. He suspected he’d gotten it during the fight with Knight-Commander Meredith, but couldn’t quite recall the precise moment or the object which had done the damage. Despite the depth of the wound it bled little and had no frayed edges. He expected it would heal well and considered it a minor infliction compared to what could have been. Besides the wound on his foot he was covered only in bruises, soot and blood- most of which was not his own.

He reached over into the chest nearest and pulled out a roll of bandages. A jug of water by the foot of his bed allowed him to clean the wound before wrapping it tightly, readjusting the strap underneath and stretching out his leg to flex and test the binding. He rested the foot back onto the floor once it seemed satisfactory and then looked across his room. There was nothing much to hint at occupation bar the melted candlewax on the floor and the poor attempts at handwriting exercises on papers across the floor. He had moved with such purpose throughout the night that it seemed strange to finally be done, to have no orders for the future. Danarius was dead, the mages were unhindered and the Templars useless: there was nothing more. Was this what it meant to be free?

Although exhausted, restlessness crept upon him. The walls stared back as if to ask what his next move would be. Where was he to go from here? What did he expect to get if he simply sat, slack and waiting? Kirkwall – his home for the last six years – had been destroyed and was on the edge of a mage-templar civil war. Remaining did not seem wise and the thought ate at the base of the skull, preventing him from enjoying the temporary peace in the city. He had been on the run before and he supposed he always knew he would return to it, even with Danarius gone. His life did not seem to suit stability.

He rubbed his face hard and stood from the bed, grabbing what he considered necessary from storage (surprisingly little) and his gauntlets before heading down to relieve Lethendralis from the door. He left the candles burning and the broken door swinging in the breeze. Let squatters take it if they like. He had no use for it now.

He barely felt the weight back upon his shoulders as he travelled down through the market. The refugees that Fenris passed were bunched together but unspeaking, staring at the ground by their feet or up towards the empty space in the skyline where only the festering foundations of the chantry remained. Smoke rose against the sky as he made his journey, though most of the small fires had been snuffed and the ashes had started to cool. Templars, amongst others, were clearing the streets of debris and gathering the dead, and they did so without a word between them. The only sound that Fenris was aware of was the distant, steadily beat of the tide lapping at the shores of the Docks down below the cliffs. Kirkwall seemed to exist in a state of silent mourning. 

He found Hawke in Lowtown, which didn’t surprise him. Although the other had told them all to ‘head home for rest’ the mage was never one to follow his own advice. The usually loud, often obnoxiously charming, man seemed small as he knelt amongst the refugees, performing what seemed to be minor healing spells. The staff resting, now unhidden, on his back was shorter by a foot or two than it had been the previous day. Fenris recalled seeing splinters of wood buried deep in the monstrous skull of Orsino.

Hawke looked up when Fenris stopped beside him and there were tired bags under his eyes. He stood and Fenris heard the crack from his bad knee. “Couldn’t sleep?” Hawke asked, reaching out a hand to touch Fenris’ wrist, brushing his dark thumb at the favour tied there. “I’m surprised this is in one piece,” he laughed, the humour back in his voice but dulled. “You were in the same battle as I was, right? Giant corpse-monster and statues throwing all kinds of nasty things at us?”

“I recall something like that, yes,” Fenris agreed. The other’s hand stayed around his forearm and Fenris found it grounded him to reality; Hawke was alive, they were _both_ alive. “Danarius’ Manor didn’t escape the debris from the Chantry,” he continued, voice steady on the last word as he looked at Hawke straight on. The other’s brow creased slightly in a wince, his lips pressed together firmly within the dark hairs of his beard.

“I haven’t checked on my own home-” Hawke cleverly avoided the real topic. Fenris wondered if the other’s mind wandered to thoughts of Anders, if he regretted letting him go. Fenris hoped that he did.

“I passed by on my way, it seemed mostly intact,” he assured.

Hawke made a humming noise to himself, “Suppose it doesn’t much matter either way,” he mumbled, and his hand moved from Fenris’ wrist to clasp his hand softly, careful of the spikes. Fenris fancied that he could feel the pulse of the other’s blood beneath his skin; knew that Hawke’s blood could feel the lyrium in his own.

“You should rest, Hawke.”

“Have you come to scold me for staying up too late?” Hawke teased. “It’s so far past my bedtime I don’t think it really matters.”

“Hawke.”

Hawke’s shoulders drooped and he relented, nodding his head. “I know, love… In a moment. I just want to check around for anyone seriously hurt before I call it a day- night- experience… You can head back and take a bath if you’d rather not wait?”

“I’ll wait,” Fenris assured.

Hawke squeezed his hand with an unsure nod and then they parted. Fenris kept his distance, giving the other the space to perform his spells. Hawke was no healer – that position had always been taken by Anders – but Fenris knew he was the type of man to try with whatever he could. Those he couldn’t heal were soothed, numbed and sent on to the crowded, larger refugee points where more skilled healers were administering aid- mages who had decided against fleeing the city, perhaps out of guilt. Fenris eyed them with suspicion, as he naturally did most mages who were not Hawke.

Eventually Hawke came to him, having healed all the bruises and scrapes he was able to, and they walked the great staircase back to Hightown, as close as they could be without quite touching. The Hawke Manor had been lucky to avoid most of the Chantry debris. Several pieces lay in the courtyard and windows had broken from the explosive wave, littering many of the carpets with glass, but apart from a few structural cracks the building was intact. From the broom and dustpan resting on the floor Orana had already begun a cleaning effort, but seemed to have gone to rest for now.

Fenris wondered what Hawke was going to do with the girl. He had never agreed with taking her on as a servant, and found it difficult to hear her speak to Hawke with the praise and awe she usually did. Whether or not Hawke told her otherwise, she considered him her new master and doted and fussed incessantly. But it was late and they were tired. That conversation would have to wait until morning.

Hawke left to run the bath and Fenris placed Lethendralis in the corner by Hawke’s shortened staff before following him through. He began to unclasp his armour and set the bloodied pieces on the floor. Before taking off his bracers he twisted the red fabric free and placed it neatly on the edge of the sink, to be washed carefully later.

“Fenris-” Hawke’s voice rumbled from where he sat on the edge of the large bathtub, rubbing his hands at his face and beard. “Do you think it would’ve been different…?” he asked, trailing off. The question didn’t need to be completed: Fenris was aware of what he was asking.

“Nobody can say for certain,” he replied, moving over to the other and lifting his hands to clasp over the other’s, holding at his strong jaw. “Both had become consumed by their hatred. Meredith was a slave to the Idol long before you chose to assist the mages.”

Hawke leant forward and rested his forehead against Fenris’ collar bone carefully, sighing. Fenris moves his hands to clasp the back of the man’s skull and pressed his mouth to the other’s hair - the smell of drakestone lingered there as well. “You were truly great,” he assured.

Hawke sighed again and then lifted his head, pulling back and standing from the edge of the bath, turning to pull the water off. “You can go first,” he said, “I need to- organise.”

Fenris was glad for the bath as he sunk into the water, keeping his bandaged foot over the edge and resting his neck against the rim, looking towards the door and listening to the shuffling of Hawke amongst his writing desk. The water was lukewarm and kind to the lyrium in his skin as he washed away several layers of filth. After he had thoroughly scrubbed, and Hawke was still busy in the study, he let himself sink down and have the water soak into his aching muscles. Relaxation came much easier this time.

Then Hawke was touching his shoulder, leaning to press a prickly kiss to his temple, “Fenris. Don’t fall asleep here, there’s a perfectly good bed in the next room - if you ignore the dog drool.”

Fenris lifted his hand from the water to rub his face, sitting up in the tub. “You’ve trimmed your beard,” he noted, shifting awkwardly out of the bath as he manoeuvred his bandaged foot.

“It’ll grow before you know it,” Hawke assured, stepping back to give the other space, grabbing a towel and placing it around Fenris’ shoulders. “I could only get so much blood out by washing.”

Fenris smiled and pulled the cloth tighter, “My champion.”

Hawke paused and then laughed, “You’ve started to tease me a lot recently,” he scolded, stripping quickly and stepping into the bathtub. Fenris knew the water was cold and filthy but Hawke still groaned in pleasure.

Hawke lounged back with his eyes shut, the water wetting only half of the hair on his chest and his hand scratching at his stomach. He looked to Fenris after a few moments with a lazy smirk. “I’ll be through in a moment,” he assured, “Won’t be long.”

Fenris found some nightclothes in Hawke’s closet and sat on the edge of the plush bed, rubbing the towel at his hair, squeezing the water out. Hawke’s mabari had been left with Gamlen in case the fight at the Gallows had turned sour but the smell of dog still lingered on every surface. Fenris brushed his feet at the carpet, glad for everything soft in the world, and lifted his head when Hawke came into the bedroom, dressed in his underwear and with the hair on his body and head ruffled from what appeared to be a rapid drying effort.

“Ah,” Hawke groaned, crawling across the bed behind Fenris and spreading out on his chest. “I will never stop being grateful for this bed after sharing with the twins in that shack Uncle Gamlen calls a home.” He snorted, rubbing his cheek into the pillow and then poked a lazy finger at Fenris’ hip. “Come here.”

Fenris dropped the towel to the floor and turned to settle himself beside the large man, looking over the muscles of his back. He was warm, despite the cold bath, and Fenris could feel it radiate off the other. Hawke sighed into the pillow and didn’t try to tug Fenris any closer. He simply slipped his hand into Fenris’ and smiled before shutting his eyes.

Fenris felt Hawke go slack and then his own muscles finally started to relax, sinking into the thick mattress. Sound was starting to come back to Kirkwall from beyond the window but Hawke’s quiet snoring was the only thing Fenris cared about. He had never thought that he would meet a mage, or anyone, who he would feel so compelled by. Was there ever a man like Hawke in history before? It seemed unlikely that someone like this could exist even once, and Fenris thanked the Maker, all the elven Gods – even the Tevinter ones – that he had been put on a path that crossed with the Champion; that allowed him to lie in this precious moment of relief with the other.

. .  
  


When they awoke, in the late afternoon, Orana was as predicted. She pressed her hands to Hawke’s arm and wept, not making much sense as she flustered, talking about the explosion, the terrible sounds of the battle and the monsters wandering the streets. She sat them firmly at the table and cooked a thick, hearty porridge with cinnamon and apples as she told them of how she had taken shelter with another noble family. She lamented over the Chantry.

Fenris ate the food without saying much, giving a dry look across the table to Hawke. The other looked rested now, though still bruised in places. Porridge was stuck to the corner of his beard and he paused at Fenris’ look before turning to Orana. “Ah, Orana? Take a seat, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Messere?” She took a seat, perching on the edge as if she was ready to leap back up when necessary.

“Did you like that Noble family? Only, you see, Fenris and I won’t be here much longer… We’re thinking of taking a trip,” Hawke fumbled, much in the same manner he had when he’d hired the girl in the first place.

Fenris finished his meal and rinsed the bowl before heading to the upper floor, leaving Hawke and Orana to their awkward conversation. He retrieved his armour from the bathroom floor and busied himself with cleaning away the grime and blood. Hawke returned after a lengthy time, looking as if he had never rested at all. Fenris placed his armour against the wall and watched him wince. “I gave her some sovereigns. I’m sure she’ll be fine…”

“Then it’s confirmed?” Fenris replied, placing his hands on his knees. “We are leaving Kirkwall?”

Hawke grunted from the back of his throat. “I don’t think we can possibly stay. The battle is over but the Templars will call for support. The failure of the Circle here is sure to just piss everyone off. And Maker- that’s not even considering how people will react to what happened to the bloody Chantry.” He brushed a hand at his beard, dragging at his face. “And then there’s the whole Apostate business- People were suspicious after the Arishok but now the whole town has actually _seen_ me waving a big stick over my head like an idiot.” He sat down heavily on the bed beside Fenris. “Even if, somehow, we stayed… It’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking for me, whether it’s the Chantry, the Templars or- some kind of mage uprising. I’d rather not get involved with that if I can help it,” he winced.

“You’ve done enough for those mages,” Fenris assured, “You’ve given enough. I will leave Kirkwall if you go. I would… accompany you if you would permit it.”

Hawke paused and then made a soft noise, reaching around Fenris and pulling him close. “Just try to escape from these arms.”

Fenris shook his head, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Never,” Hawke agreed, pressing a kiss to Fenris’ neck before his arms went soft around the other. “I’ll have to visit Carver and Bethany before we go… And check on everyone. Maybe we can even get one last drink in at The Hanged Man, Maker providing.”

Fenris shook his head, but supposed it would be apt to leave with the taste of wet dog in his mouth… Speaking of which: “What will you do with the mabari?”

Hawke paused, standing from the edge of the bed and going to collect his stunted staff, turning it in his fingers and inspecting the wood. “They make good companions on the road-”

Fenris just nodded, because he knew better than to try and dissuade the other from taking his beloved dog. She had survived Lothering after all, she could fight, and it would be useful to have someone to scout the roads ahead and guard them at night. Fenris had been looking forward to the smell of dog eventually dissipating but perhaps in the future.

“Varric will miss you.” Fenris hoped Hawke did not dream of taking their whole rag-tag team along for the journey. He had already implied that the twins were to remain, so Fenris doubted that would be so.

Hawke brushed his thumb at the wood, shifting the staff onto his back. “Varric is a big boy now, I’m sure he can handle himself. I heard he’s writing a book about me. That should keep him busy.”

“You will miss him too,” Fenris added, standing from the bed and moving to stand by the other.

Hawke frowned to himself. “Of course, but I guess we all knew this… _gang_ we had couldn’t last,” he muttered, resting his forehead down against Fenris’ and pressing forward gently.

Fenris could smell the cinnamon from their breakfast on the other’s breath and there was a slight resentment to the other’s words, suggesting that the other was thinking of Isabella’s disappearance several years ago. He reached to brush down Hawke’s forearm and sought to pull the other away from such thoughts. “Let’s head for that drink.”

. .  
  


It didn’t take long to gather the necessary supplies from Hawke’s Manor. They made it to The Hanged Man as the afternoon light was dulling and Varric took one look at them, dressed in travelling cloaks with supplies strapped to their backs, before snorting and taking a long drink from his tankard. “I guess I expected this,” he muttered, gesturing for them to sit.

The Hanged Man had been hit hard during the siege. Most of the furniture had been destroyed and Varric had claimed one of few remaining tables. Corff and Norah had both survived the night and were working on clearing the mess whilst serving the few patrons littered around. Fenris and Hawke were served tankards of ale free-of-charge, accompanied by Norah’s tired smile.

“I’m still thinking of buying this place,” Varric smirked. “Prophet or no, I think we can all agree that it’s for sentimental reasons now.”

“I very much doubt anything you invest in would ever be unprofitable,” Hawke smirked, taking a swig from his drink.

There was silence at their table before Varric muttered, “Where you thinking of heading? I’ll hold off the Chantry if they come sniffing around, send them in the opposite direction- and I hope you’re taking that dog of yours, she’ll eat your Uncle if you don’t.”

“Of course we’re taking her,” Hawke agreed, then shrugged, “Fenris and I were hoping you might have suggestions for our little holiday. Personally I’ve always wondered about Antiva at this time of year-”

“Planning on getting drunk on fine wine as you avoid causing an Exalted March?”

“I also love the smell of leather, of course. Might even cover the stink Kirkwall has left on me.” Hawke replied, smirking.

“I think that’s just your natural Ferelden musk, Hawke.”

The table grew quiet again and Fenris licked the taste of ale from his mouth, stomach heavy as he opened his mouth to speak. “We will write," he said, meaning: Hawke will write.

“You do that,” Varric nodded his head to them.

. .  
  


They collected the dog from Gamlen and Fenris left Hawke in private so that he could say goodbye to his family. As he waited, Merrill walked along the street, coming from the direction of the Alienage, and he nodded his head to her. Not because he wanted to talk to her, but because he knew that Hawke would want to wish her goodbye.

She came over, with Sebastian suddenly in tow. She stuttered about helping the refugees together, about allowing Sebastian to stay with her (in that hovel?) and about how everything was ‘ _so sad’_. When Hawke finally emerged from his Uncle’s home with the dog she rushed to hug him, leaving Fenris with Sebastian. He had attended some Chantry services with the religious man and become somewhat close with him, but the Holy Messenger had not recovered from the loss of Grand Cleric Elthina yet and was very quiet. Fenris found he could not look into the other’s eyes. He knew that look, and he could think of nothing to sooth the other out of his despair. The Chant of Light, thoughts of the Maker or well-wishing all seemed inappropriate.

After promising to write they left Lowtown together. Hawke’s family stood on the steps to Gamlen’s home and watched them go. Merrill waved furiously until they turned the corner. Sebastian stared at the skyline.

On the path out of Kirkwall, along The Wounded Coast, the dog rushed ahead and barked loudly when she stumbled upon Aveline and her husband, happily taking treats from Donnic’s outstretched hand.

“I hope you didn’t think you could just leave without saying goodbye,” she muttered, strong jaw squared as she stood in front of Hawke.

“Perish the thought,” Hawke smiled, letting go of Fenris’ hand to hug around her. He shot a firm look at Donnic over the Guard Captain’s shoulder. “I’ll be writing to make sure you’re being a wonderful husband.”

“Didn’t you threaten me enough at our wedding?” Donnic smiled, clenching his fist to his breast and saluting the Champion. “Safe journey, Serrah Hawke.” Then a nod. “Fenris.”

“You keep safe,” Aveline muttered, looking at Hawke firmly. Then she turned to Fenris, “And Maker, keep him from doing anything stupid. He’s been a hero enough. Go raise mabari puppies in the forest and be done with it.”

“I think I’d rather face Meredith and Orsino again than a hoard of tiny creatures biting holes in all my socks,” Hawke laughed.

“I’m serious- take a break, alright? Enjoy yourself. It’s not your job to clean up the world whenever it demands. Someone else will just have to sort things out.”

“Hopefully the world will take a break before going to shit,” Hawke agreed. He lifted a hand to Aveline’s cheek, “Take care of Carver, alright? Make sure the Templars don’t lay a hand on him.” Fenris supposed the other feared that Carver might be punished for choosing to side with him against the mages, though he didn’t think it would much matter in the light of Meredith’s actions. 

“I will. And if he’s a brat, I’ll write to you about that as well. Maybe a stern letter from you might kick him into gear,” Aveline laughed, placing her hand over Hawke’s and squeezing before she stepped to the side. “Be careful on the roads.”

Hawke found Fenris’ hand once again and nodded to his friend, whistling for the dog to stop pestering Donnic for more treats, before turning back on the road out of Kirkwall.

. .  
  


Having left Kirkwall late in the afternoon they stopped for the night at an Inn set at the base of the Vimmark Mountains. The room was cheap and they allowed dogs inside the establishment, although Fenris forbid the dog from climbing into bed, which caused whining from both dog and master. He allowed her a significant portion of his meal as a compromise and she curled up beside the fire without any further complaint. Hawke was satisfied with a kiss.

“Even this bed is better than what Uncle Gamlen calls a mattress,” Hawke snorted, lounging back against the pillows, one arm up behind his head exposing the thick hair of his armpit. “He’ll not know what to do with that Mansion. I’ll have to write and make sure he’s not sleeping on the broken glass out of habit.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t gamble it away,” Fenris mumbled, shifting into the cramped bed next to the other.

Hawke shifted with a creak from the mattress, bringing his arm down and wrapping it around Fenris firmly, kissing an ear. “Well, Fenris,” he said, “Your master plan has worked and now you’ve got me all to yourself.”

Fenris smiled at the other’s idiocy, glad to have the other’s voice sound so light again, despite the underlying meaning to those words- that Hawke had left his family behind, blood and not-blood. Strange how distance, however short, made things easier. “Hurry and go to sleep then, so I can end you whilst you’re unaware.”

“Liar,” Hawke kissed over his face messily, the trimmed hairs of his beard scratching Fenris’ cheeks.

“Hawke-” Fenris scolded, shaking his head and turning his mouth to silence the other. The candles burnt down as they held each other. Tomorrow they would continue on towards Antiva, for as long as they wished to head in that direction, but for now they slept in each other’s arms unburdened.


End file.
